


There Will be Blood

by oizys



Category: EXO (Band), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Alternative Universe - FBI, Criminal Investigation, Criminal Profiler Kyungsoo, Dark Character, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, M/M, Murder, Psychiatrist Jongin, Serial Killers, Slow Burn, The Hannibal inspired fic no one asked for, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-05-05 18:56:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oizys/pseuds/oizys
Summary: Do Kyungsoo, a highly gifted criminal profiler, is recruited to aid in investigating a series of unsettling murders. Although his unique mind is an asset to the investigation, something about the serial killer he hunts for weighs heavily on him for more reasons than he cares to admit. As the nature of the murders he is forced to examine grow increasingly explicit in their motive, Kyungsoo begins to struggle more than ever before to maintain the tenuous hold he has over his fragile psyche. Feelings he thought he had conquered long ago make themselves known to him once more - with a vengeance - and Kyungsoo soon realises he is not as nearly as free from his past as he had believed.





	1. Lessons in Drowning

Like in so many other cases, the first body had been found purely by chance — stumbled upon by a young couple on an evening walk along the sand, they had spotted the corpse as they had neared one of the frequent breakwaters that had been placed along the beach, stuck afloat between two concrete tetrapods. 

It could have almost been nothing more than a tragic accidental drowning case, an unfortunate but isolated incident - except that the victim’s wrists and ankles were lashed together with thick industrial level adhesive tape.

_(—softly, with hands as gentle as rain,)_

The second body, like the one before it, was also a discovery of chance. Accidentally spotted by a small group of primary schoolers who had been birdwatching at the mouth of the river as it entered the bay, they had noticed something abnormal floating some hundred meters out with their binoculars and had quickly notified the police. A successful recovery team had brought the body back to shore where it became glaringly obvious that the death was related to the one before it — much like the body prior, this second body had also been found with limbs taped, arms behind back, ankles lashed tightly.

_(— swollen with words you never said,)_

One person dead under such suspicious circumstances was enough to generate a disquiet whispering. Two bodies in the span of three weeks in such close proximity, however, rose the whisper to a buzz of fear.

When the third body was found, the buzz turned to a heavy blanket that settled with a heaviness that was suffocating. Like the two before it, the third body was found with limbs taped together — but this time, the corpse was found some five kilometres upstream, not yet having completed its journey to the sea. Three bodies in just over a month, all three dead under undeniably similar circumstances — the headlines released to the public by the press merely reflected what investigators had already begun privately considering — 

SUSPECTED SERIAL KILLER ACTIVE IN THE GREATER TOKYO AREA

All three victims had been male, all on the cusp of adulthood - shy by just a few years at the most. Tied by the ankles and wrists, all with duct tape residue on their faces, their autopsies had found all three to have single needle puncture from above, somewhere to their upper body, and ketamine in their systems. It hadn’t been a particularly arduous task to narrow down the search criteria when going through recent missing persons reports either - the three victims had been identified and named within the month. 

_(— swollen with hoarded love)_  
  


* * *

  
Kyungsoo’s eyes darted away from the case file content he had been examining. The influx of information was overwhelming. The smiling faces in the victim photos (high school portraits, provided by grieving families) stared out at him, immortalised within their matte photo prisons. In life they would have been unique individuals with distinct personalities, habits and traits. 

Not that it mattered to the killer. 

“Anything?”

Kyungsoo started, head snapping towards the source of the voice: Kim Minseok, head of behavioural science at the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department and the very reason he was currently sitting surrounded by photos of drowned teens. As a former Kansai region based criminal profiler, it wasn’t exactly a new experience for him to have to examine rather gory content. 

_Former_ , in this situation, was the keyword. Kyungsoo had retired from his position almost two years ago for reasons he hadn’t divulged to the public and had only just skimmed over to those he had worked with — at the end of the day, he had claimed it was due to the pressure and public attention his involvement in high profile cases had begun to garner. Privately, however, he knew his own limits — which he had accepted were fragile at best — and had come to recognise that his deep and unwittingly personal involvement in the cases he solved was damaging him in deeper ways than he ever wished to admit.

However, the latter reason needed not to be said — _he didn’t want to admit it_ — so he had given his excuses to his superiors as he saw fit and had stuck to the narrative he had painted ever since. 

And for the most part, Kyungsoo had thought he had done a rather good job of it — _it_ being his stepping down from his increasingly high profile position to fade into a graceful obscurity. Obviously not well enough, though —he could only think rather bitterly to himself — the fact that Kim Minseok had travelled all the way to Osaka just to have him examine the kind of content he specifically wished to avoid was proof enough of this, and it didn’t bode well with him. Kyungsoo didn’t bother masking his distaste when answering.

“Your killer loves his victims.”

Minseok appeared unperturbed by his tone. “The killer loves the victims?”

“Well, not the victims, per se, but the person they’re meant to be.” He turned back to the photos laid out in front of him, looking, but not really seeing. The faces in the photos were overlapping, merging and blurring into one face — the feelings behind the motive were so strong that Kyungsoo was already struggling to differentiate them — love, so much of it, expanding, straining the already brittle seams of his chest —

“Why kill them if he loves them?”

Kyungsoo frowned, both irritated by the disruption and discomforted by the sensation of understanding yet not really knowing. It was like trying to put together a puzzle in the dark. He was fumbling, slotting pieces together but still not knowing what kind of picture he was going to get as the final result. 

“Why are you here?” Kyungsoo instead answered Minseok’s question with a question of his own. He no longer felt distaste, rather, all he now felt was unsettled.

Minseok frowned, looking down at the photos spread out on Kyungsoo’s workspace. “At first we thought it was organised crime. Some young kid that pissed off the wrong person, or a runaway that had gotten involved with the wrong crowd and had bitten off something they couldn’t chew. You know how it can be with the Yakuza.”

“But?”

“But it didn’t add up.” Minseok shrugged, answer infuriating in its simplicity. He turned his gaze back onto Kyungsoo. “Why kill them, if he loves them?”

Minseok’s answer, or lack thereof, was more than enough — the unsaid truth was already there in his question.

_Let me pick at your brains. Give me access to your mind._

Minseok wanted him to consult the case.

Obviously, his reputation preceded him. For a moment Kyungsoo felt like a cornered animal. The instinct to bare his teeth in a show of self defence rose in him. He tampered it down, mustering his self control to answer instead:

“I don’t now. You need to find who they’re meant to be, though. Because until you do, they’ll just keep killing”  
  


* * *

  
For the rest of the week, Kyungsoo dreamt of drowning. Lying paralysed in his bed, he would watch as water would seep through his bedroom floorboards at a steady rate, increasing until it was pouring from between the lines left in his poorly glued wallpaper, from between the gaps of his closed door, from between the glass panes of his window — a tsunami of murky, cold water that he could not escape. There was a reason he had distanced himself from actively participating in investigations: the nightmares were just one of them.

Nightmares were bearable, though, if for a noble cause. This was what Kyungsoo had always told himself — and he desperately wanted to believe — which was why he had said yes to Minseok.

He didn’t want to look. But once he looked, he wouldn’t — _couldn’t_ —  stop. 

Because Kyungsoo wanted to be good, so much that he sometimes felt as though his heart was not a heart, but an ache. And if being good meant having to endure unpleasant things, so be it. He hardened himself, ignored the parts of him that wept and sung at what he saw, made his heart impenetrable to the horrors he was made to bear witness to and forged onwards, denying and ignoring, _always_ denying and ignoring.  
  


* * *

  
It was the sound of his mobile phone ringing on Sunday morning that jerked Kyungsoo into consciousness. He reached around awkwardly in the dim morning light for several bleary seconds, sweaty and panting from yet another nightmare, before finally locating it — he didn’t recognise the caller ID at a glance and his tone was hesitant when he answered.

“Hello?”

“Kyungsoo, this is Kim Minseok.”

“Ah.” Kyungsoo wasn’t yet sure how to feel.

“Aren’t you up?” 

Kyungsoo didn’t fail to note the barely concealed disapproval in Minseok’s tone and he had to bite his tongue in order to stop himself from saying something he would later regret.

“I am now.” He sighed instead. “What is it, Minseok?”

“Another body has been found. Get ready to be on scene.”

Kyungsoo didn’t even get a chance to open his mouth to decline — Minseok had already hung up, much to Kyungsoo’s chagrin. He considered calling back to kindly tell the behavioural analyst to shove it where the sun didn’t shine and leave him alone but Kyungsoo was more than sure that Minseok wouldn’t answer.

_Besides_ , his brain provided him, _you agreed to this_.

It was with a barely concealed snarl that he dragged himself from his bed, scowl etched onto his face as he haphazardly pulled on socks and reached around blindly under his bed for his boots.  
  


* * *

  
“You okay?”

Kyungsoo removed his face from his hands wearily and looked up to see Minseok, who had his arm extended towards him, tinned vending machine coffee in hand. Luckily it was still early and cool, not to mention the fact it was misting lightly. If it had been any other day the summer warmth would have made drinking the heated drink quite distasteful. 

A peace offering.

Kyungsoo straightened from the slumped position he had taken against the police vehicle he stood against and reached out to accept the proffered drink from Minseok.

“No. I mean, not really, but soon. I’ll be fine.” Kyungsoo winced at his own messy answer. “Thank you.”

Minseok looked at him through now the steadily falling misty rain - really looked at him - for a moment before taking the position next to Kyungsoo, unbothered by the water that his clothes were no doubt soaking up. He leaned back on the car, cupping his own drink between his hands. “You know, before I’d even approached you, I’d already heard a lot about you from Joonmyeon.”

Kyungsoo groaned at that - a quick, sharp smile flashed across Minseok’s face at his response. 

“He made you out as some sort of idiot savant-” Minseok sent him an apologetic glance which Kyungsoo shrugged off, no offence taken. “He said you were one of those people who just didn’t function like normal - shit at caring for yourself, shit at fostering relationships, shit at maintaining any sort of healthy balance in any and all areas of life - but when it came to criminal profiling, there was no one else that came close. He told me ‘If you want a case solved, get Do Kyungsoo on it’” Minseok did a surprisingly good job at mimicking Joonmyeon’s manner, and Kyungsoo couldn’t help but appreciate his bluntness. “And I wanted this case solved - I still do - so I approached you.”

“Approached might be putting it a little too mildly, Minseok” Kyungsoo said dryly. “More like coerced.”

“I won’t apologise for getting you on the case, Kyungsoo.” Minseok responded simply. “I will apologise, though, for not taking into higher consideration the effect it would have on you. Joonmyeon described you to me as someone who fell into profiles, as opposed to the rest of us who have to construct them. I didn’t consider that falling in these kinds of situations isn’t usually a comfortable experience.”

Kyungsoo laughed at that - a harsh bark of a sound that quickly morphed into a wince. He wiped a hand across his face, as if to rid himself of the water that had settled lightly on his skin. In truth, he simply didn’t want his twisted expression to be accessible to Minseok’s gaze. “Its not the falling thats the issue, its the process of recovery after the fall.”

Minseok expression tightened - obviously Joonmyeon had said more to him then he had let on. Still, Kyungsoo knew that it was as good of an apology as he was going to get from the hard headed agent, and he acquiesced with a sigh.

“Just promise me you’ll leave me alone after we close this case, Minseok. You know I have my reasons for avoiding active fieldwork and I don’t like being hounded.”

Minseok blinked slowly before giving him a single nod - a bob of his head. “You have my word on it.”

“Well then, thanks, I guess.” Awkwardly, Kyungsoo looked down at the coffee held between his hands ( _warm, like the victim whose face he had held, lovingly, lovingly, ever so lovingly_ ).  His hands trembled around the can he held, a few accumulated drops of water falling from his skin. He knew that the only reason the contents hadn’t yet sloshed out was because he hadn’t yet cracked the tab to open it. Aware of dark grey sky above him and gradually increasing rain, Kyungsoo tried to tell himself that that, at least, was one small blessing out of a thousand curses to be thankful for.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Kyungsoo? You really don’t look well.” Minseok said, leaning towards him some. 

Kyungsoo twitched, nearly dropping his canned coffee.

“Its a confession. A love confession.” He said, looking down at the water they stood hardly five meters from. The cement embankment to the waters edge was steep, but the sight of multiple investigators down by the waters edge some twenty or so meters upstream - a flurry of disruptive activity in a place usually quiet - was so jarring that he could not tear his eyes away.  “But why kill them, then?” He said, more to himself than to Minseok. 

“Why anything?“ Minseok said darkly from besides him, tossing his emptied can down onto the wet pavement they stood on before crumpling it beneath his foot in a show of distaste. “What makes a person kidnap a teenaged boy, bundle him up and then hold him headfirst in a river once they’ve finished fulfilling whatever sick fantasy they have going? No matter the motive, its senseless.” 

Kyungsoo had to bite his lip to stop himself from playing devils advocate. It was hard, understanding the minds of killers. It was worse because all motive and consequence made sense, if you knew the killer well enough. Cause and effect, cause and effect - the bane of Kyungsoo’s troubled existence. One persons cause would mean nothing to another person. One person’s effect would appear senseless to all others. That was the problem, because at the end of the day it was all just cause and effect, and when you could understand and see both, nothing was senseless and everything held meaning.

“We need to find whoever it is being confessed to.”  
  


* * *

  
The air in the morgue was heavy, alive with some sort of oppressive unspent energy that seemed to bear down on Kyungsoo’s head and already too frequently over-tensed shoulders — 

In front of them, a single body was laid out on a stainless steel autopsy table. A large Y-shaped incision extended from each shoulder to meet at the breast bone. From there it extended, all the way down to the pubic bone. It had been freshly sewn up — a completed autopsy — and an evidence sheet had been pulled up just below the bottom of the closed incision. Modesty, always modesty and respect, even in death.

Kyungsoo found it disconcerting that the two other (living) men in the room seemed not to be affected in the way he was as they observed the corpse with a detached, clinical interest. Perhaps it was because he lacked the necessary ability to separate himself, which was why he felt things so much more acutely than others. He tried not to dwell on it.

“What do we know about our victim?” Minseok asked, voice almost unbearably loud in the chilled room.

“Positively ID’d as seventeen year old Song Kyungil.” Byun Baekhyun, the medical examiner working on their case, replied smoothly. “One hundred and seventy nine centimetres tall, sixty three kilograms heavy. No signs of sexual assault or even assault, for that matter.” Baekhyun chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. "The killer is careful with the victims. It's as if he doesn't want to cause them unnecessary harm."

Kyungsoo couldn’t help but stare blankly at the body, the strange sense of discountenance having settled along his spine at the response. Of course he didn't want to hurt them. _He loved them—_

“Cause of death the same as the previous three?”

Kyungsoo blinked owlishly as Baekhyun simultaneouslyhummed in affirmation across from him. He had a pleasant tone, Kyungsoo noted absently. 

“A single needle wound entering from above into the trapezius, and blood analyses revealed non-lethal amounts of ketamine in the system. Water in the lungs, like the other three, which meant he was still alive at the time of submersion.” Baekhyun said simply. “Cardiac arrest would have followed shortly after unconsciousness.” 

“Wet drowning” Joonmyeon murmured. 

“But we all know that the forensic diagnosis of drowning is considered one of the most difficult to conclude accurately.” Baekhyun began to say. “It’s hard to say with one hundred perce—”

Abruptly, Kyungsoo was being submerged _—_ pushed down violently — in cold water.

_(He thrashed, progress to free himself and reach the surface all but prevented by the tape that bound him and the pressure bearing down on him from above. His movements were strong, though, as wild and uncontrolled blind panic seized him. Still, the water pressed around him on all sides, all angles, swirling and sucking all of his senses around him into the murky depths, rising over his body, a wash of cold, suffocating darkness. His mouth was open in a muffled wail as the water rushed across his face, filling his nose and mouth as it reached down his throat with ease. It blocked his airways, choking him as his lungs screamed in agony, his body weakening against whatever force that held him down. Hardest of all to think around was the mind numbing pain in the back of his nose and throat as the water, seemingly against its very nature in that moment, seemed to sear his insides. Unable to move, to fight, to escape, Kyungsoo felt his conscious leave him, like the air bubbles that floated from his body, upwards to the surface he so desperately wished to reach but was too weak to get to —)_

Kyungsoo was pulled out of his mind by Minseok’s stern response. An involuntary inhale of air left Kyungsoo, the sound seeming magnified in the small space they inhabited. Luckily, both of the men present seemed not to have noticed. “There are no other signs of trauma or otherwise so we’ll just have to go off the assumption that the cause of death is drowning.”

“Yes, I believe that’s what we’ll have to settle on.” Baekhyun replied. His tone was softer when he next spoke. “I think the victim’s family is eager to have the body returned to their possession for burial. I’ll wrap this up and have the funeral home contacted for pickup.”

Kyungsoo stared at the victims side profile from where he stood, arms crossed over his chest tightly as if to hold himself together.

In life, Song Kyungil would have been an attractive young man. In death, his pallid skin seemed tight, pulled taut over narrow, too-sharp jawline. His expression was not peaceful — his lips, blue and chapped, were downturned at the corners and parted ever so slightly, as if he had had something to say but had lost the opportunity to do so. Kyungsoo supposed that in a way his observation probably held a great deal of truth.

_What did you have to say before the water stole the words and turned them to bubbles beyond your reach? What did you want to say before the water stole the words and swept them away?_

Unbidden, the questions rose in his mind.

All he received in response was despair.

For a moment Kyungsoo’s eyes burnt. Doing his utmost to calm his breathing so as to not draw attention to himself, he let out a low breath. Inside his head, a dull ache had begun to manifest. He closed his eyes, unwinding his arms from their crossed position to instead rub a hand across his face, willing himself to dispel the unpleasant unsaid words that now crowded his mind.

 

* * *

  
“Shh, shhh, quiet, be quiet”

The teen, kneeling before him and trembling in terror, nodded tearfully.  

Kyungsoo reached out and tore away the duct tape covering the boys mouth as gently as he could. Still, it tugged at the boy’s skin and left a sticky residue over irritated, reddened flesh. 

“What are y—“

Kyungsoo’s hand jerked forward, covering the teens mouth. His hands were strong, fingers digging slightly into soft cheek — not enough to cause genuine hurt — but firm enough to be heeded. He frowned, displeased. “Please don’t speak. Please.”

It was a request, not a threat, but somehow there was something in the tone of his voice, coiled like a snake in long grass. The unspoken ' _Do as I say'_ needed not to be said aloud to be recognised. 

Like the barely perceptible uncoiling before the imminent strike — there was something dangerous waiting in the tone of his voice, hidden just out of sight. 

The words, despite being spoken gently, served as a foreshadowing of what was sure was to come — a scarcely detectable whisper of sound that warned:  ** _you will regret not listening_** _._

The teen let out a small, terrified moan but made no other sound. Slowly, Kyungsoo lowered his hands.

No disruptions, no distractions, the quiet made it easy for him to envision it all — abruptly, his gaze shifted. He reached forwards again, but this time not with the intention of silencing. He cupped the teens face with his hands, spreading his fingers along warmed cheeks and jaw, gently stroking the soft skin beneath the teens eyes with the pads of his thumbs, carefully, gently, ever so lovingly.

Words had been accumulating in the base of his stomach for so long, growing and expanding until he was gorged on them, sick from the words he held, sick on the feelings behind the words poisoning him - there were so many to say.

Drowning in unsaid words, drowning in love, Kyungsoo smiled sadly. He had a confession to make.  
  


* * *

  
Kyungsoo jerked awake, clammy and panting. He blinked — he was looking up at his arms which he had extended up as he slept. His hands were curved in the air, fingers spread slightly, as if he were gently cupping something —

The horror hit him a moment later and he jerked his arms down to his sides, trembling slightly. His head was pounding. 

The digital clock beside him (red, blinking) read 5:37AM and Kyungsoo let out a soft moan of pain, knowing full well that going back to sleep was not an option.

A shower it was, then.

Collecting a towel and a change of clothes, Kyungsoo made his way into the bathroom attached to the modest hotel room he slept in and quickly stripped off his pyjamas, stepping into the shower quickly.

Under the scalding water ( _letting it wash away the darkness that coated his skin, his mind, his heart_ ), Kyungsoo could almost pretend that he hadn’t just dreamt of one of the victims— that he hadn’t just dreamt of the moments before the fall. He felt dirty, skin crawling as if there were bugs tunnelling through his flesh, hidden from sight beneath smooth epidermis. He felt jittery, an ugly kind of energy twisting his stomach.

Kyungsoo shut off the flow of water and stepped out, towelling himself dry efficiently. He dressed himself quickly in the haphazard and unplanned section of clothes he had brought with him - the first things he had pulled from his bag. A quick glance in the mirror revealed to him that nothing he wore matched and that he looked peaky and unwell from lack of sleep. He frowned and turned away. 

By the time he exited the small bathroom it was 6:29AM and the sun was slowly beginning to illuminate his room from the cracks between his curtains. He wandered over to the window and peered out for a moment before cracking open the window. The temperature was pleasant but it was still early and he could sense the all too familiar summer warmth building. It was going to be a hot day, and he frowned. All too quickly, Kyungsoo found his thoughts once more returning to the investigation he found himself tethered to. It had been almost three weeks since the last body had been found and the task force assigned to the case had achieved nothing in that time. Kyungsoo couldn’t help but resent the fact that he was a part of said task force, which meant he too had achieved nothing.

Despite the time that had passed since waking from his nightmare and his attempts at focussing his thoughts, Kyungsoo still felt on edge. He spun away from the window and made for the door, possessed by the need to do something, _anything_ , to work the uncomfortable energy that plagued him out of his sytem.

There was nothing of significance, nothing of value. All that held him was the misguided love of a serial killer.

Starting for the footpath that would lead him along the riverfront, Kyungsoo found himself wishing more than anything to be able to leave so that the love he now felt would stop haunting him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note:  
> First of all, thank you for reading this far!  
> Secondly, I have tagged this as Hannibal inspired and this is certainly the case - I have taken a solid amount from the TV series in terms of set up (criminal profiler/psychologist relationship). However, please be aware that I am not going to be following the series to a T - to put it simply, things that are crucial to the TV series (such as the cannibalism lol) will not be present at all in this fic. Sorry if that's what you were looking for!   
> Thirdly, the setting of this fic (Japan) might bother some people but I'm familiar with the area which is why I decided on that path. Likewise, I am by absolutely no means an expert on criminal investigation/medical terminology (and so on and so forth), so if there are things that aren't quite right (which there undoubtedly will be) I apologise. I'm just going to do my research to the best of my ability and hope things work out on paper haha.   
> With that said, I hope if you're reading this that you'll give this fic a chance. See you next update!


	2. Cruor et Cruoris

The freshly updated case file he had received was detailed, as expected, and Kyungsoo felt yet another headache building in his skull as he stared at it with blank eyes. He hadn’t moved to turn the page he was on for almost an hour — 

Four victims in the span of sixty three days. Four victims in barely two months. The youngest had been fifteen, the oldest barely seventeen.

All of the victims had all lived along Sakai River, the fifty-two kilometre long river that they had all ended drowned in. The river started in in Machida, Tokyo, passing through the Kanagawa Region to end at Katase, Fujisawa, where it opened to the Bay of Sagami. It had been the start of monsoon season when the first two murders had occurred, which was why both had made it downstream to the sea. Tests conducted on the water found in both the victims lungs had pointed towards a fresh-water drowning, however, and the mouth of Sakai River was quickly determined as the most likely location from which the bodies had originated.

This theory was favoured further more with the end of the short monsoon season. With less rain, the previously fast flowing water that had carried the first two bodies downstream had lessened in speed, depth and strength. As a result, the next two bodies had been found further inland, upstream from where the river met the sea. The third body had been found washed ashore at the Kawana confluence where the Kashio River met and joined with the Sakai River. This had posed questions — had this victim been plucked from along the Kashio River? — but upon the positive identification of the victims, it quickly became apparent that the killer was selective — all three had lived in areas that the the Sakai River flowed through. Victim three had simply washed ashore early on in its journey to the sea. Victim Four, thereafter, as determined from the location the victim had lived and last been seen, had not travelled far along the river after being murdered — the method and cause of death was in line with those that came before and investigators on the case were left with pathetically little to work with.

With the understanding that they were dealing with a serial killer, local homicide had swiftly prepped a room at the Fujisawa Police Station to become an investigation headquarter to the specialist team from Tokyo that had been called in to take over the investigation.

It was that exact hastily put together investigation headquarter that Kyungsoo found himself seated in, staring blankly at the case information in front of him. Across from him, Minseok paced the length of the room, face twisted in what could only be described as an expression of unadulterated rage.

Just behind Minseok, pinned on the otherwise bare wall, was a map. Red stickers had been stuck on at the locations the bodies had been found, blue for the estimated location they had been taken and killed, and yellow stickers for where the victims had lived.

Two victims had lived in the city of Fujisawa — the first in the Kugenuma Ward and the second in the Shirahata Ward, further upstream. The third victim had lived barely three kilometres from the third, on the outer edge of the Totsuka Ward of Yokohama. This jurisdictional breach was exactly the reason Minseok had been called in from Tokyo — having two differing municipal police groups working on the one case complicated matters, and as both cities were part of the Greater Tokyo metropolis, it had been decided that a specialist group from the capital would be sent to take over the investigation. The fourth body was found barely two kilometres from where the victim lived and was last seen — like the boy before him, Victim Four had also lived in the Totsuka Ward of Yokohama, slightly upstream from the last victim. 

The killer didn’t seem troubled in the slightest about covering his tracks, either. They had at least two witnesses and more than ample DNA — skin and even a strand of hair that had been pulled from off the tapes used to bind the murdered teens. The problem was that the witnesses never had enough reason to suspect what they had only later realised as suspicious, and the DNA samples they had collected matched nothing on their databases, meaning the killer had no prior offences that had warranted taking DNA samples. They were dealing with a law abiding killer who didn’t really seem to care about covering his tracks. 

This, combined with the fact that it had been nine days since the last victim had been found, was causing Minseok to experience increasingly severe mood swings. With each passing hour his temper seemed to worsen, much to the discomfort of those working alongside him.

“We have a three week average between each murder.” Minseok seemed to speak to no one and everyone present in the room at once. “Twenty one days, folks.” 

Kyungsoo couldn’t help but close his eyes as the emotions rolled off Minseok in waves. The last four words he had spoken aloud had been so harsh that Kyungsoo could have sworn he felt his head throb as they hit him. 

“What do we know?” Minseok jabbed at the map with a finger as if it had personally offended him. In a way, Kyungsoo supposed it had. The thought was quickly tossed from his mind when Minseok turned to him, expression harsh and tone fuelled with unspoken accusation. “Kyungsoo?” 

The kanji used in Kyungsoo’s name had always been something he had felt didn’t match him as a person. Kyung, which meant ‘to respect’, or ‘to honour’ and Soo, meaning ‘to blossom’, ’to bear fruit’, ‘beautiful’ or ‘elegant’. When the two characters were combined to make his name, they were frequently interpreted as ‘respectfully blossoming’, or ‘honourable and beautiful’ — both of which gave off an uncharacteristically outstanding and even _pretty_ mental image that Kyungsoo felt he simply did not live up to. 

However, upon hearing Minseok’s acerbic call of his name, for the first time in his life Kyungsoo felt as though his name was finally his own. It was incredible how the slightest change in inflection turned it so very bitter — he could taste it on the back of his throat, a sensation he had grown so accustomed to in his life that he barely felt the urge to react. Hearing Minseok’s call of his name simply confirmed how Kyungsoo had always felt. 

“I know you’ve been getting a lot from this killer — don’t even bother denying that.” Barely moments had passed since Minseok had first said his name and the Agent-in-Charge plowed onwards, resolute in his anger. “What I want to know is why you aren’t telling me what it is you’re seeing.”

Kyungsoo’s expression twisted as he prepared to explain the very thing that had been plaguing him. “I’ve told you what I could. Each murder is the same in motive. There’s nothing that separates them, theres no distinguishing features to go off.” 

Just love. Always love. Kyungsoo felt it building in him to the level of a scream. The murders were a message — a love confession — and Kyungsoo knew that the intended recipient was situated somewhere along the river the bodies had been set afloat in. To their killer, the boys he had murdered were like love notes, carefully prepared origami boats that had been set on the water in the hopes they would float to his love downstream. All that mattered was the boy that was the true recipient of the misplaced love Kyungsoo now struggled to keep himself afloat in. It pressed in on him from all sides, and, as though it were a living entity with a mind of its own, Kyungsoo found himself fearing it would wriggle into him and make a home within the cavity of his chest. The love he felt was overwhelming, like a forest fire that couldn’t be contained, it expanded and spread outwards at an uncontrollable rate. Worst, though, was its intensity. He felt as though it would burrow into his insides like some sort of parasitic creature, slowly, insidiously, coiling its way to his brain where it would then alter his every thought and action thereafter.

And the problem was that it would be all too easy to have it in him — it would fit in between the muscles and sinew as though it were meant to be there, it would tunnel down to the bone, it would travel through his nervous system like some sort of terrible disease — and it wouldn’t even hurt.

No wonder their killer felt the need to kill. Kyungsoo felt buffeted from all sides — the love was sloshing into his mouth and filling his nose, his throat was raw and abused, his vocal cords hoarse and damaged from all the times he had had to hack it back out. Time and time again he was suffocated, as though he were drowning in all this unspent love. He closed his eyes, exhausted beyond belief. 

He forced his eyes to meet Minseok’s. “I’m sorry, Minseok. I can’t tell where it starts, so I can’t predict how it’ll end. Its simply too broad for me at the moment.” He swallowed thickly, unwilling to voice just how much love blanketed the case.

“Keep looking then.” Minseok snapped. Kyungsoo tried not to hold the Behavioural Analyst’s foul mood against him. “Go deeper, do whatever it takes to figure this case out, Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo merely nodded in response and allowed his gaze to drop from Minseok’s with no small amount of relief. His eyes were burning again and he flipped several pages of the file in front of him, only stopping once it was open on the section dedicated to the victim profiles. The faces of the victims seemed to swim in his vision and Kyungsoo closed his eyes, headache seeming to have built to a crescendo inside his skull. The desire to be gone — to leave it all and enter a headspace of blank, blissful emptiness — bore down on him with such pressure that it was hard now for him to tell where the desire ended and he began. 

But he had no time to rest. He had four dead boys on his hands, and a killer on the loose. He forced his eyes open once more and willed himself to take the faces of the victims in — these boys were the reason he continued. He would not allow the love of a madman to make him forget this.   
  


* * *

  
With the weight of the obligation he felt towards the four dead boys set down upon him, Kyungsoo worked tirelessly — the dark bruising shadows beneath his eyes seemed to deepen, the pallor of his skin growing increasingly lacklustre with each passing day. He would rise in the morning after a fitful nights sleep and face the day through the eyes of a murderer. 

Despite how much he tried to keep himself and his work separated, Kyungsoo began to find that it was growing increasingly difficult to perform day to day tasks without unsavoury thoughts entering his mind. He had had to give up driving himself to the station in the mornings simply because he was too exhausted to drive without endangering others. The final straw had been one morning, after barely two hours sleep, when he had seen his own hands trembling so hard around the steering wheel that he had had to pull over to the side of the road and get out to breathe. He had taken the train since then, but then he was faced with a very different problem.  As he observed the people around him, blanks began to appear in his own mind. Instead of his own thoughts, there was a voice that spoke, picking apart the strangers around him —

_The young man standing by the door on his phone — thin and tall enough, but his face slightly too round._

_The group of teens seated across from him — the one on the far right — hair colour was good, but buzzed a little too short. The one sitting in the middle — too short and muscular. The one on the left —  face too broad with features a little too soft._

Kyungsoo would always leave the train feeling sick to the stomach, the short walk to the station one that was spent telling himself that he had things under control. He would ignore it. He would endure it. Ignore and endure. Ignore the fact that the voice of a killer spoke to him in his mind, picking apart the people he encountered, endure the fear it placed in his heart, like block of led that was slowly poisoning him.

The days seemed to pass like water through a sieve. Minseok’s agitation grew by tenfold with each passing twenty four hours that were lost, and working in the confined space they had been given at Fujisawa Station was near unbearable. Kyungsoo had already long lost count of the last time he had had a conversation on something ( _anything_ ) other than the investigation. His interactions seemed limited to snapped questions on his progress and the apologetic, shamed responses he gave.

Kyungsoo felt isolated and tired. Each second he spent on the investigation was another second he spent eroding himself down to the bone. He endured, of course. He always endured. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t was an awful ache, grinding away at him. Deeper and deeper, to to bone, further yet, to the marrow — wet and warm and oozing, pulsing sharply each time he forced himself to go further. His needs came second to the demands of those he worked alongside. His needs came second to the daily pressure he faced on the case. 

He felt like there were shards of bone in his bloodstream that he had no option but to ignore. He possessed a wound no one could see. _He_ was a wound no one could see.

_Endure. Endure. Please, I beg of you, endure._  
  


* * *

  
Victim number five was found after a missing persons report was filed by a tearful, terrified mother. Somehow, despite how much it shamed him to admit, even if only privately to himself, this made it easier for Kyungsoo to deal with. The firsthand witnessing of the pain grounded him and he clung to it like a drowning man to a buoy — he clutched at it with to a ferocity fuelled by something that lay somewhere in the overlapping boundaries between of desperation and madness. 

The pain committed him to the cause he had previously found obscured in the heavy, thick smog that was the feelings of the killer they searched for. The love had been heady and suffocating, almost drug-like in its effect — the pain, in contrast, was a piercing sharp hook through his brain that sent him lurching up through the haze. The love was still there, blanketing him up to the shoulders — that he could not deny — but the pain kept his head above the water. For that, he couldn’t help but be thankful.

The victim fit the set profile identically — so tragically young, having only just made it to his mid teens, tall for his age and thin for his height. He had been drugged and bound with tape, ankles secured together with wrists that had been taped tight behind his back. Of course, like the four that came before, the death was attributed to wet drowning. 

The only difference, perhaps to many something so minor that it might not have even been considered worth mentioning in the grand scheme of things was —

“The _bruising_ —”  Byun Baekhyun spoke the simple two syllable word such relish that Kyungsoo had to double take to make sure he had not accidentally misheard the attractive young medical examiner. It seemed more likely that such a tone would be used when speaking, for example, of a hard earned breakfast date with the pretty girl next door, or the successful acquisition of an expensive new car. 

“All of the bodies, including this one, have post mortem damage. No doubt a result of their rough journeys downstream after being drowned.” Bakehyun spoke smoothly. “However, there are four major points of bruising on this body, composed of eleven separate bruises that are of interest to us. Blood needs to be moving for bruises to complete forming, and the development of these bruises indicate they occurred prior to death.” 

Baekhyun ghosted the eleven bruises on the body laid out in front of them with feather light gestures of his gloved hand. The two largest whole bruises were on the upper left and right arms of the victim, reddish purple in colour and circling almost all the way around, the same way an ornamental metal circlet would. Another was on the front of the right shoulder, a dark circular splodge above the victims collar bone. There was a horizontal row of four small, circular bruises on the back of the same shoulder, spaced around one centimetre apart. There was one light purple bruise at the centre of the victims right cheek, and four spread along the left side of the face, more or less in a row, but this time vertically extending down the expanse of the victims now-pallid jaw.

“Hands.” Kyungsoo murmured, eyes travelling from the circlet like bruising on the victims upper arms to the splotches of bruising along the jaw and cheek. “Fingers” 

The bruises spoke for themselves.

“Your perpetrator has a strong grip.” Baekhyun replied simply, tone final as he pulled the gloves off his hands with a snap, disposing of them with a practiced ease in the nearby bin for hazardous waste. 

“Could the bruises have occurred during a struggle?” Minseok asked aloud. “Perhaps this victim had more fight than the killer had expected and an altercation occurred.” 

“No.” 

Kyungsoo’s reply left him without permission — for a second he was surprised by his own abrupt answer. There had been no question in his mind, no possibility that it could be anything else and it wasn’t even until a second later that the nightmare he had had came back to him, acute in its sensations.

_— his hands, reaching forwards to cup warmed cheeks._

_— his hands, fingers spread lightly along sloping jaw._

_— his hands, stroking soft skin with trembling fingertips._

_— his hands, carefully, gently, ever so lovingly._

Kyungsoo’s expression twisted for a fraction of a second into a barely there wince as the feelings and images bombarded his already painfully over-crowded head. He didn’t have to consider the options to know that what Minseok offered, or anyone else, for that matter, was wrong.

Of course, everything that came after the first assured response was convoluted and difficult to convey.

“He wants them to see how he feels. But they’re not understanding what he’s trying to express.” Kyungsoo said, tone somewhat faltering as he attempted to string together the words. “They’re not responding the way he wants them to.”

“So he’s escalating.” Minseok’s expression was stony, “Because the boys he’s kidnaped to kill _don’t love him_?” 

Kyungsoo couldn’t help but wince at the raised, incredulous pitch Minseok’s tone had taken upon speaking the last three words of his sentence. Kyungsoo was already well aware how irrational the circumstances were. 

“He’s frustrated because they’re not reciprocating the love he’s offered.”  
  


* * *

  
The teen in front of Kyungsoo was frightened and only semi-coherent. Kyungsoo wrapped his hands around the boys upper arms to keep him upright.

“Do you understand?” 

The boy tried to turn away, head lolling onto his shoulder. 

Kyungsoo, seemingly unaware of his own strength, squeezed with unnecessary force as he almost shook the boy in an attempt to get him to meet his gaze. There was a ringing in his ears, a haze descending over his eyes. The teens legs gave way and he dropped to his knees in a heap. Kyungsoo followed him, actions tinged with desperation. With one hand on the teens shoulder, the other cupping his face, words spilt from him.

“Why don’t you understand?! Why can’t you you see?! I’m saying I love you! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?!” 

The teen let out a shuddering sob. “Mum—“ His voice was so desperately childlike in his terror. “— Dad — help me, I want to go home, I want to go h—”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Kyungsoo’s fingers gripped the teens shoulder like a vice, hand having moved to cover his mouth with bruising strength. His fingers dug in and the teen let out another wail of garbled sound. “I’m here! Look at me, look at me!” Kyungsoo’s tone had grown increasingly emotional, anger bleeding into all of his words and gestures. “Why wont you see me?! Why wont you love me?!” His thumbs dug in above the boys clavicles, fingers extended over the teens shoulders where they sunk in like claws.

The teen’s hands scrabbled weakly against his chest as he tried to push away. The rejection was a pain so acute that for a moment Kyungsoo could barely breathe. “Mumma.” The boy choked out, half a wail as he moved as if to get away. “Dadda—“ In his drugged, confused and frightened state, it was as though the teen had reverted to his basest form —  like a small child, he could only think to cry for his parents upon facing death. “Help me — I want to go home, I’m scared, I want to go home—"

The sound of flowing water from below them reached Kyungsoo easily. His eyes were blank as he hefted the teen up by the arms and made for the waters edge.  
  


* * *

  
Face up in bed, clammy and cold with limbs that trembled every so slightly, Kyungsoo knew he could no longer deny what he had tried to ignore — It was getting too hard for him.

He couldn’t help but both fear and loathe how quickly it settled into his bones — the persistent whispering in his ears, the familiar ache that came with the weight of enduring — 

He kept telling himself to endure. That he’d pull through if he could just endure. Endure and pull through — _when had he not managed before?_

But there was something so very raw about the feelings he felt after too many nights of being plagued by nightmares. For several moments every night, his own traitorous heart jerked his body upright. Terror claimed his body for its own each time the sun set and all he could do as he regained autonomy upon waking was heave for air as his stuttering heart worked itself back into an even rhythm. In the seconds it took for his mind to reconnect with his body, it was always as if all of his blood had been drained and replaced by iced dread instead.

Kyungsoo couldn’t help but wonder if what he felt in the seconds prior to waking was him at his truest. Not quite human, not quite man —

It took Kyungsoo several moments to realise that he was shuddering. Not trembling or shaking, but shuddering. His body felt cold, far too cold, and the images, sounds and feelings that he had told himself he would maintain control of within the confines of his mind were everywhere — too much of them, beyond his grasp, they were in everything he saw and did and felt, they swirled in the room he laid in, beyond him, outside of him  _—_

His stomach heaved abruptly and Kyungsoo had no choice but to throw himself from his bed in a bid to reach the bathroom before he threw up. The tiles were cold beneath his knees despite the uncomfortable summer humidity and he heaved, a mixture of sour bile and the stale coffee he had had for dinner spilling into the toilet distastefully. It was only after he was sure that the nausea had passed that he allowed himself to curl into a ball on the floor, uncaring of the grime, shivering as he heaved in gasped breaths. 

_Not quite human, not quite man —_

Silent tears spilt from Kyungsoo’s eyes. All he was sure of was that the fear that seized him was his own.   
  


* * *

  
Unlike the five murders before it, victim number six was found face down in a rice paddy situated fifty meters inland from the river. The body looked as though it had been dropped there — despite the fact that it was half submerged in mud and water, Kyungsoo hadn’t failed to note how remarkably clean the victims back was — there were only a few flecks of mud at the most — not nearly enough to assume that any sort of fight or struggle had occurred. 

Minseok was already on scene waiting by the time Kyungsoo arrived. 

“The owner of the field spotted the body when he arrived. Kyungsoo glanced at the white pick up truck Minseok had pointed at, where an uncomfortable looking middle aged gentleman dressed in a plaid shirt, overalls and muddied gumboots stood, speaking to an officer. “He thought it was a collapsed drunkard and was concerned. He came through the field to check —“ Minseok pointed at a choppy trail that cut through the mud from the opposite end they approached from, “—until he saw the bound limbs.”

Kyungsoo nodded, taking in the sight of the signature wrists, bound low behind the back, and ankles, lashed tight with the same tape used on the wrists. When he looked back up, he was mildly discomforted by the fact that Minseok was staring at him. For a moment it looked as though the other man would speak —

Minseok turned away, moving towards the body. A moment after him, Kyungsoo moved to follow through the mud. He was glad for the personal protective equipment he had been handed upon arriving on scene — the disposable high top boots he wore over his own shoes were godsend in the muck of the current location.

“I’ll give you ten minutes.” Minseok said once Kyungsoo drew up to him. The Behavioural Analyst’s eyes were cast downwards to the body. Kyungsoo was mildly impressed that he had managed to maintain such control over his usually volatile moods.

“Alright.” Kyungsoo replied. Minseok merely nodded in response before backing away, motioning to the other investigators present to do the same.

Silence seemed to settle swiftly and Kyungsoo’s gaze lingered on the body in front of him. It was easy to see why from a distance the owner of the field had thought it was a collapsed drunkard. The victim was lying prone on the ground, entire front submerged in mud and water. Kyungsoo frowned, unsettled by a certain off-ness that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He had to go deeper, he had to see further. 

He let his gaze go blank. His consciousness fell through the blackness of his own mind and reality shifted around him as he took on the view of another.

_This wasn’t meant to happen. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. His love was not meant to be like this. This was an accident, a lapse in control. Something had seized him, something wrong and off. He hadn’t meant for this to happen, he had never meant to do this —_

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. The body was a weight in his arms that he didn’t want to be responsible for. The shame snapped at his heels as he made his way quickly through the mud._

_This was wrong, it couldn’t be seen or shown. This confession could not be set on the water — it had gotten messed up, it sent the wrong message. This wasn’t his love, this wasn’t him._

_Wrong, wrong, wrong. I’m sorry. The shame gnawed on him — he couldn’t bear to look down, he couldn’t bare to look down and see what he had done, he didn’t want to see the result of his actions anymore—_

Kyungsoo heaved in a breath, blinking at the bright light of day. The summer day was already warm and humid — too warm and too humid — and Kyungsoo shifted uncomfortably. With muscles that seemed to have turned to stone, he lowered himself, careful that he did not touch the mud. Something was wrong, something was off. His stomach churned, a sharp almost acidic sensation having built at the back of this throat.

His arms shook as he extended them. His gloved fingers trembled as he reached for the dark brunette haired head of the victim. Gently, ever so gently, Kyungsoo moved to raise the victims head. Rigor mortis had set in, making it very difficult to manoeuvre the stiff body. From behind him, Kyungsoo heard an alarmed shout of his name. It was too far off and distant, however, to pierce the fog that had settled in his mind. The muscles in his arms strained for a fraction of a second before the stiffened muscles in the victims neck seemed to finally give away with a strange clicking and cracking. Abruptly, Kyungsoo found himself face to face with a dead teen.

Mud slid in watery trails off the dead boy’s face — his mouth, which had been slack at the time of his death, gaped open and poured out a watered down mixture of mud and — _blood?_

Kyungsoo’s grip went slack and the half raised upper portion of the boy’s body dropped back into the mud was a squelch. The dead teen’s freshly manoeuvred neck remained upturned, however, and only his chin settled back into the mud. If he had been alive, the teen would have been staring with uncomfortably turned neck at Kyungsoo’s disposable boots and shins. Mud oozed out of his nostrils and dripped from his mud caked fringe. Kyungsoo, hyperventilating and uncaring of remaining mud free, scrambled backwards as he stared with horrified eyes at the teen’s face.

_No, no, no. This wasn’t meant to happen. It was an accident, a mistake. No, no, no. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I never meant to do this, I never meant for this to happen —_

Where the teen’s eyes should have been there were only two gorged, lacerated caverns. Strings of something wet and slimy extended from the darkness — flesh or something other, it was hard to tell — and clung to the teen’s cheeks. The teen seemed to be staring forwards at Kyungsoo as mud and watery blood seeped from his mutilated eye sockets like tears.

It took Kyungsoo some time to realise that the voice he had been hearing, crying out in despair over and over — _No! I never meant for this, this wasn’t meant to happen!_ — wasn’t in his head,  but was his own. It took him a moment longer to realise that he was being pulled backwards, half standing, half stumbling and dragged, through the mud towards the edge of the field.

But it was too late. The love the killer had once felt had been tainted by something irreversible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,  
> I'm sure some of you are wondering where the other characters are - don't worry! I plan on introducing them to you very shortly and am both excited and nervous to start sharing psychiatrist!Jongin.  
> I'm still trying to get the hang of AO3, too, so I hope formatting of the chapters is OK.  
> As always, thank you for the interest and support. It's super motivating to see your comments and hear your thoughts :-)
> 
> See you all next update!


	3. I Come to You in Pieces

He had been told it was a nervous breakdown.

Minseok had given him referral papers to a psychiatrist the very next time they had met — a certain Doctor Kim. J, as stated on the innocuous yet simultaneously infuriating sheets he had been handed. Kyungsoo hadn’t had to ask to know that the psychiatrist was a connection of Joonmyeon’s — Minseok’s apologetic expression had given him away almost immediately. He tried not to blame Minseok — he was bound by duty to report to Joonmyeon, after all, and Joonmyeon, in much the same way, was bound by duty to ensure, at least to the best of his ability, the wellbeing of those working in all of the branches associated with the National Centre for the Analysis of Violent Crime — Bahavioural Analysis included. Because Kyungsoo had been unofficially consulting for Minseok, this duty of care extended to him which was why Joonmyeon had reached out through his own personal connections to land him a session with the psychiatrist Kyungsoo was now scheduled to have come meet him. He was still wanted on the case, after all. They couldn’t have someone unstable working for them.

In this way, Kyungsoo couldn’t really fault either of them for their actions. He was left no choice but to channel any anger he felt into hating the stranger — Doctor Kim — that he was due to meet.

It was a meeting that he grew increasingly irritable over. He was confined to the hospital until he was deemed stable, and the prodding questions and lingering gazes of the hospital staff and on-site psychologists did nothing more than grate on his already frayed nerves. His blood pressure was still a little too high, the nurses told him, and his heart rate had a tendency to spike — probably a result of stress. This, he could understand warranted at least some concern. The psychologists, on the other hand, simply seemed to do nothing more than bring out the worst in him. It was too easy to see what their vague questions hid. He was a criminal profiler, he knew his limits, and he certainly knew how psychoanalysis worked. It was almost insulting, except he knew that the people that came to see him only meant well. He was more than sure that the psychiatrist Joonmyeon had organised for him would be much the same as those employed at the hospital — something he anticipated with no small amount of distaste.

When the scheduled day finally arrived and Kyungsoo had yet to be released from hospital, he had all but given up on the idea of a well-timed escape — he had briefly considered how, if he were to be released earlier than scheduled, he could simply slip away from the planned meeting with the psychiatrist. No need for explanations, no need for excuses. Rude of him, undoubtedly, but at least sparing him from a great deal of personal discomfort. 

It seemed fate was not on his side, however. _Had it ever been?_ Kyungsoo couldn’t help but think not upon the sound of a polite knock on his door.

Steeling himself for what was to come, Kyungsoo forced himself to speak, voice directed more at his own lap than at the person standing beyond the door.

“Come in.”

The sound of the door opening and then closing a moment later was the only sign anyone else was even present in the room. Kyungsoo dragged his eyes up, shoulders hunched slightly as if expecting some sort of attack.

Doctor Kim was not what Kyungsoo had expected — dark, stylishly parted hair paired with healthy, supple, olive toned skin that seemed to glow.  His face was shapely — well-defined lips that might have appeared off set under other circumstances and a full nose — by no means a patrician feature, it was the type of nose that might have even been considered unsightly if on any other person. However, the two were somehow made balanced by the even, angular structure of his face: his sharp jawline and the sculpted brows over his dark eyes created quite a visual. Somehow, all of the opposing forces he was comprised of ended up creating a strikingly attractive facial equilibrium. 

Kyungsoo’s attention was drawn away from the doctors face almost unwillingly by the clothes the man before him wore. Doctor Kim was wearing a light blue, chalk striped three piece summer suit over an eggshell white shirt. Everything he wore was slim and well fitted, ecentuating his toned, well proportioned figure. His clothes were more than likely custom made and screamed of wealth in excess. Kyungsoo’s eyes automatically moved to the matching tie the doctor wore — a large Windsor knot that called for attention, its symmetry somehow invoking the image of a man in control. The outfit was completed by the eggshell white pocket square the doctor had decided to include to match his shirt and tie — it was the type of finishing touch (an almost unnecessary flourish) that was often overlooked yet missed if not present. 

He was beautiful, Kyungsoo found himself thinking without even meaning to. 

The Doctor, who had been observing him in much the same way Kyungsoo had been observing him, smiled abruptly. His eyes were dark and his expression gave nothing away, but the smile appeared genuine on his handsome face. He was the kind of man that appeared almost timeless — eccentric, bold, and confident, most definitely — yet elegant and crisply disciplined all at the same time. He appeared capable — capable at just what, however, Kyungsoo remained unsure of. 

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you.” Doctor Kim extended his hand to shake and Kyungsoo took it on autopilot. “Kim Jongin.” He said his own name sharply, a simple means of self introduction. His voice was warm and pleasant and Kyungsoo found himself feeing suddenly self conscious. 

“Likewise, Doctor Kim.” Kyungsoo managed to get out. “My name is Do Kyungsoo.”

“Please, just call me Jongin.” The Doctor’s smile seemed to widen almost imperceptibly. “I am here as a favour, after all. Not as a Doctor.”

Kyungsoo’s expression hardened marginally at the reminder that Doctor Kim — Jongin — was only standing in his shabby hospital room because he had suffered a nervous breakdown four days prior and Joonmyeon, through Minseok, had set him up to it.

“I’m not sure why you’d bother coming here, if not as a doctor.” The words left Kyungsoo without thought, and it wasn’t until a second later that he realised how unpleasant they made him appear. He frowned at himself. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

When he looked up, the doctor’s expression was still warm. “No need to apologise. I am sure your current predicament is frustrating, and these things always have an unfortunate tendency to boil over.” Unfortunate indeed, Kyugsoo agreed silently. Jongin motioned at the uncomfortable looking guest chair placed beside the bed. “May I sit?”

Kyungsoo merely nodded in response, folding the newspaper he had been reading prior to the doctors arrival. The Doctors eyes were drawn to the motion, gaze settling on the glaringly visible title on the page —  KANAGAWA KILLER CLAIMS SIXTH VICTIM

“Quite terrible.” Jongin said simply as his gaze returned to meet Kyungsoo’s, who grimaced at the simple yet very much encompassing description. The Doctor, seemingly prompted by Kyungsoo’s expression, continued to speak. “I heard it’s the case you are on?”

“I’m not really on it.” Kyungsoo said bleakly. “More like flailing upside down with one foot stuck in the stirrup.”

“Either you pull yourself back up and gain control of your horse, or you take a nasty tumble.” Doctor Kim’s response was so simple that Kyungsoo had to tamper down the urge to laugh, albeit bitterly.

He allowed his eyes to slide to the Doctors. He really was so very attractive — it was almost painful, especially considering how terrible Kyungsoo looked since the incident. Being stuck in a hospital never tended to do wonders for ones appearance, after all. “Look at me.” He motioned at himself then around the small room, his smile as bleak as his tone. “Seem’s like the tumble has already occurred, wouldn’t you say?”

Doctor Kim grinned at that, all white teeth, sharp and minacious. “I suppose that might be the case. But you survived, though, didn’t you? Will you not reattempt to tame the beast?”

Kyungsoo chewed on his bottom lip, eyes sliding to the wall opposite him. “I don’t know if I want to.”

“Is it that you don’t like what you see?”

Kyungsoo’s eyes slid back to the psychiatrists. “Are we talking about the case and its killer, or me, Doctor Kim?” His tone was sharper than he intended for it to be.

Jongin, having steepled his fingers beneath his chin, leaned forwards. “That is up for you to decide. Like I said before, I am here as a favour, not as a Doctor. What we make of this meeting is for you to decide. Speak freely, or not at all. Nothing said between us need be shared or reported on, and unless you wish to, there is no obligation for us to meet ever again after this.”

Kyungsoo frowned, brows furrowed as he weighed the Doctors words in his mind. Did he want to speak freely? To an extent, he did yes. He always did. But also, as always, the fear plagued him. And the fear had always tended to to outweigh the desire to be known. He wanted to speak, but not too much. Only to a certain extent. There were consequences tied to the things he wished to say that he did not want to have to face. Of course, if he was careful he need not worry. He had made it this far in his life without too many issues. Perhaps it would benefit him, to share some of the weight he felt. As long as he was careful with his words. 

The doctor spoke again, tone gentle. “Consider perhaps, even if this is our first and last meeting, that I simply wish to help you.” 

Kyungsoo swallowed nervously, taking a moment to make up his mind.

“I seldom like what I see.” His voice was quiet, spoken in the tone of one confessing a great sin.

Doctor Kim straightened in his seat, head tilted to the side a fraction. “Murder is never easy to observe.”

Kyungsoo shook his head, gaze focussed once more on the wall opposite him. “Not for me. It’s easy for me.”

“Why then do you feel you are you here?” There was a note of genuine curiosity in the Doctors voice. 

“Because of the feelings.” Kyungsoo replied, voice barely above a whisper. “All that human emotion, tied to the act. None of it mine, but I have to hear it all and feel it all anyway.”

“A burden unlike any other.” Jongin said in response. “Do those feelings make you feel less than human?”

 _Not quite human, not quite man —_  

“They make me feel disrespected.” The words spewed out of Kyungsoo, spat out from somewhere sharp and dark in his chest. It was only after a stunned second after registering his own response that he turned, almost unwillingly, to look at the Doctor beside him. 

Kim Jongin’s face was closed off and unreachable. It was almost the exact same expression he had worn upon entering Kyungsoo’s small room — pleasant, but devoid of emotion. There was no judgement, no disgust, fear or even confusion — just a still, unreadable countenance, undecipherable even to Kyungsoo’s overly perceptive gaze. 

However, his eyes, dark and wide despite the light that cut into them and caused his pupils to be indiscernible to Kyungsoo, were brimming with unspoken words. When he next spoke, his tone was a soft caress across Kyungsoo’s tightly strung body.

“I think I understand.”  
 

* * *

 

How bitter the love became. How quickly the sweetness soured. It was a subtle note, an undercurrent that lingered, not quite right, somewhat off— 

_(Oh, what atrocities I will commit upon you—)_

It was still love, though, that could not be denied. Kyungsoo knew of love. And he knew that what he felt now was love. It ate away at him from the inside. A dull, hollow gong that resounded through his body, over and over. A compulsion he couldn’t kick, an itch he couldn’t scratch. Love, so much of it, eating its way through his body.

_(what pain I will inflict—)_

Kyungsoo wasn’t a fool, though. He wasn’t idealistic enough to believe that love could only ever be good and whole. There were different kinds of love, and this particular brand was the kind that made you sick. It was the kind disguised as a freshly picked apple, smooth and pretty. He held it in his hands and turned it over, running his palms over it. Flawless and crisp, ripe for eating. 

_(what rotting, tender ache —)_

Just beneath the surface of that shining red skin, however, was the rot. Rot had a tendency to spread — that was the danger of it. But love was love, even if it was off. And Kyungsoo knew that if you were hungry enough, even spoilt things begun to look appetising. He lifted the apple to his mouth and bit in, teeth meeting red.

_(—that will worry you like a wound.)_

From where his teeth pierced the flesh, mud spurted out. Putrified juice mixed with the muck, combining into a watery mess that dripped from his hands and ran down his chin. Nothing seemed to register, though. He was too hungry to care and his second bite was just as ravenous as the first. The flesh of the apple came away in his mouth with ease and he drew back, chewing desperately despite the pulpy, slimy texture and sour, stomach churning taste.

_(This love of mine will drown you too, eventually.)_

“How horribly hungry you are.” The voice was choppy and choked, forced up through clogged airways. 

Kyungsoo was no longer staring at an apple — the face he held between his slippery hands was cold and discoloured under the mud. Kyungsoo stared up at the teen, who stood before him. His hands shook violently but he couldn’t pull them away from the boy’s face. 

“We’re not really enough, though, are we?” The teens lips, discoloured and cracked, moved stiffly. Mud gushed from his mouth with each word he spoke.

The two bites Kyungsoo had taken out of the apple, transformed, stared back at him as cavernous, gorged eye sockets. They led into a darkness Kyungsoo was too afraid to reach into. Transfixed, horrified — all Kyungsoo could do was stare in muted terror.

“Insatiable. You’re insatiable.” Watery blood and mud gushed from the teen’s eye sockets — tears of mirth or misery, Kyungsoo couldn’t tell. “The more you deny yourself, the more that monstrous hunger of yours grows.”

The muddy blood ran down the teens cheeks, slimy and warm as it flowed over Kyungsoo’s hands and down his arms. “Your love is a beast that crawls through your blood.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean to, I—“ Kyungsoo’s voce was not his own. It trembled, like a leaf. 

“You killed us as an excuse. You killed us to feed it and save yourself.” The mud in the teens airways flowed over and out from between his lips with each choked word. 

“No, no, no, I never wanted to—“

“You’re going to end up eating your own heart.” The teen’s lips pulled and cracked unnaturally, watery mud and blood flowing out of his eye sockets in thick pulses. Kyungsoo was covered in it — his hands, seemingly fixed onto the teens face, were besmeared so much so that his own skin was no longer visible. The watery, bloody mud ran down his arms and dripped off his elbows in rivulets. He stood in a pool of it — rancid blood, diluted by muddy water.

“You never really loved us. Not really.” The teen leaned into Kyungsoo’s touch and the stench of decomposition filled his nose. “So what exactly did we end up dying for?”

The taste of rotten flesh filled Kyungsoo mouth abruptly. In terror, he opened his mouth with a scream posed on the tip of his tongue. Instead of his own voice, however, it was filth that gushed from his chest, filling his mouth with grime.

The sound of muddy blood splattering from his own mouth onto the ground at his feet was the last thing Kyungsoo heard before he woke with a wail.

* * *

  
Minseok was glad to have him back. It was underpinned, however, by a sharp undercurrent of guilt that caused him to hover and backtrack. Kyungsoo did his best to ignore it. 

“I was incorrect in my thinking that the murdered teens were love confessions to a recipient, regardless of if said recipient knew it or not.” Kyungsoo said, pushing his glasses further up his nose as he avoided the eyes of the curious investigators present in the room. “Love is undoubtedly the fuel for these murders. However, our killer kills because he’s avoiding.” 

“Avoiding?” Minseok asked.

“He doesn’t want to kill the person all of this love is directed at. But its getting harder for him not to. The boys that have been killed so far have simply been a means of curbing his compulsion — of performing the act without harming the object of his...  _affections_.”

Kyungsoo pointed at the stickers on the map, one by one from first to fifth. All of the teens had lived further inland with each murder. “He’s not building up the courage to confess, rather, he’s getting weaker against the desire to do so.” 

“So confess, in this case, equates to kill.” Minseok’s tone is hard, tinged by an undeniable edge of bewilderment. _Why would anyone want to kill someone they love?_ The question hovered in the spaces between his words. _Because,_ Kyungsoo wished to say, _sometimes there is simply too much love to contain._

Instead, he answered simply. “Yes.”

Minseok let out a sound of genuine despair. “So the recipient of this love lives inland and the killer is moving towards him, consciously or otherwise. The Sakai River is fifty two kilometres long, Kyungsoo. Lets say that maybe the recipient lives all the way in Machida. If thats the case and he’s moving inland, following the course of the river, he’ll have killed twenty, maybe even thirty more by the time he reaches Tokyo.”

Kyungsoo’s lips were downturned. “You saw his last murder. He’s losing control — its only a matter of time before he slips up.” 

“I don’t want to collect bodies in the time that takes!” Minseok’s voice had risen almost to a shout. 

“I’m sorry.” Kyungsoo’s tone was shamed. “The best we can do is issue a warning to the general population, especially those that live in the wards along the river.”

Minseok took in a deep breath. “Yes, you’re right. This is a start, at least. Well done.” 

Kyungsoo merely inclined his head in response. He barely registered Minseok’s voice after that, barking orders to the other investigators present. It wasn’t until the Behavioural Analyst was at his elbow, speaking to him, that Kyungsoo turned with semi-glazed eyes. 

“Are you alright, Kyungsoo?” Minseok asked. “You look exhausted.”

“I didn’t sleep well.” Kyungsoo replied simply, shrug at Minseok’s question just a little too blasé to be truly natural. 

Minseok frowned but seemed to choose not to push the subject. “Have you met with Doctor Kim since your last meeting?”

It seemed to be Kyungsoo’s turn to frown. Kim Jongin’s business card had remained stuffed in his wallet — his full name with credentials, address, contact details and business hours embossed neatly in black ink on the tasteful, bone coloured card. Kyungsoo had avoided looking at it since he had first been handed it by the doctor. 

 _Please feel free to get in touch, Kyungsoo,_ the doctors voice had been so genuine as he handed Kyungso the business card. It was almost as if he were extending an invitation to friendship. _I would be delighted to have the opportunity to speak to you again._  

“No, I haven’t.” Kyungsoo said. Minseok pursed his lips, his thoughts practically broadcasted across his forehead — _clashing personalities, a doctor too self-confident and brash in his dealings._

“It wasn’t that I didn’t find him respectable. He seems competent and dependable.” Kyungsoo said. Minseok seemed mildly surprised that Kyungsoo was actually praising the doctor rather than claiming his outright dislike of the man. “I’m just not sure how to proceed.”

Minseok seemed to think for a moment before shrugging. “Proceed as you see fit, Kyungsoo. The kind of work we do is hard. Even the best of us have bad days, and you’re one of the very best we have. No one will fault you for struggling and needing to talk about it.”

_“Your love is a beast that crawls through your blood.”_

Kyungsoo swallowed thickly, unable to shake the feeling of his hands, curled around cold, stiff flesh. The sensation of slick, rotten liquid sliding across his bared flesh felt so real in that moment that he had to cross his arms across his chest and curl his hands into tight fists.

_“You’re going to end up eating your own heart.”_

Fear bubbled in him, just beneath the surface of his meticulously held together exterior. It was always there, the fear. Without the fear, what would he be?

Kyungsoo nodded. “Alright.”

 

* * *

 

Kim Jongin’s psychiatric practice was based in the Akasaka district of Tokyo — Kyungsoo hadn’t been able to stop his eye roll upon first seeing the address. It was only a second later that he felt foolish for not having assumed in the first place that the doctor would be based in such a upscale location — Doctor Kim’s main clientele were probably successful yet inexplicably dissatisfied businessmen, the neglected wives of emotionally distant politicians, and wealthy expatriates suffering homesickness, all of whom the doctor probably received thousands of yen per session from.

He tried not to let it bother him as he sat on the express JR Tokaido train from Fujisawa Station to Shimbashi Station — despite having dressed in the best clothes he had brought with him, he knew he was going to look sorely out of place in comparison to Doctor Kim’s undoubtedly wealthy usual clients. By the time he transferred onto the Tokyo Metro Ginza Line, however, Kyungsoo had come to terms with the situation with a grim sort of determination. Besides, he told himself, it was Tokyo and no one would care enough to remember him out of the millions of other people present in the city. He would pass by them, and them by him, a spare thought at the most offered before he faded once more into the obscurity of memory.

In total, his trip took just over an hour — Doctor Kim’s practice was only a short walk from Akasaka Station — it was an easily spotted building set between an International Embassy and Corporate Office. Kyungsoo did his best to ignore the businesspeople that bustled round him in their overpriced suits, and he edged around the wealthy couple exiting the building as he entered — they spoke to one another in sharp tones and Kyungsoo couldn’t help but assume that they were probably there for relationship counselling.

Kyungsoo made his way across the grand bottom floor lobby to one of the five available lifts, uncaring of the bewildered look one of the receptionists had sent him. The large, overly luxurious vase of Hakuojishi Peonies on the counter quickly blocked him from her view, however, and Kyungsoo let out a sigh of relief upon entering the thankfully empty lift. 

Doctor Kim’s practice was situated on the fourth floor and Kyungsoo only had to wait a moment before the lift doors opened with a gentle dinging tone. 

Kyungsoo blinked, somewhat taken aback by how very different the floor Doctor Kim inhabited was from the rest of what he had seen of the building. The lobby had been devoid of personality — mostly comprised of marble and modern, geometric art pieces in monochromatic and polished metal tones. The pieces placed to exude comfort, such as the flowers, had simply seemed forced and out of place and the false, fluorescent light had resulted in a very slight yet uncomfortable glare. In comparison, Doctor Kim’s floor was done up in dark, earthy tones with surprising splashes of rich colour. Small but highly detailed artworks dotted the walls, and the seats placed on either side of the dark wood door looked like restored antique pieces, reminiscent of the western style popular in the 1880’s.  There was a thick, darkly coloured rug placed on the floor, softening the sound of his footfall, and Kyungsoo made his way almost cautiously to one of the seats, settling into the dark green leather silently.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there for, simply taking in his surroundings — when the door that led to what he assumed was the doctors main office opened quite suddenly, however, Kyungsoo was barely able to conceal his jolt of surprise. 

“Kyungsoo?”

“Ah” Kyungsoo shot up from his seat. “Hello, Doctor Kim.”

The doctor, who wore a shadow checked navy three piece suit set against a darkly coloured Oxford shirt and richly coloured patterned tie to match, looked just as attractive as the last time they had met. Kyungsoo eyed the expensive cut of his suit, the wide lapels, large tie knot and slanted pockets accentuating the bold look. His pocket square, like the first time they had met, matched his tie, and was placed with a nonchalance that beguiled. He held a dark leather briefcase in his hand, as if he were about to leave. Suddenly, Kyungsoo was overwhelmed by mortification — he hadn’t considered his timing or the doctors availability in the slightest before showing up unannounced. 

“Jongin, please.” Doctor Kim — no, Jongin — said, all pleasantness. He continued after only a seconds pause, smile softening his defined features. “Good evening, Kyungsoo. I wont lie by saying I’m not surprised.”

“Sorry for showing up without warning.” Kyungsoo apologised, running a hand through his hair nervously. 

Jongin inclined his head. “No need to apologise, I am pleasantly surprised to have your company. Would you like to come in?” He motioned through the door, which he held open with a single hand.

“You’re not heading out? I can come back another time, if you have someplace you need to be.”

Jongin smiled. “I have no where to be but home, and you are a welcomed distraction from the work that awaits me there.”

Kyungsoo couldn’t help but smile in return, passing into the room beyond the door with a soft “Thank you.”

Jongin’s main office was a great deal like the foyer, but somehow, there was so much more — books lined the walls, artworks were placed tastefully in free spaces, and two large, comfortable couches were placed facing each other, furthest away and across the room from the large floor to ceiling windows that a large, grand desk took space before. The darkly coloured curtains had been drawn across the windows though, and the effect it had on the room was monumental — somehow, everything was made more personal in the warmly yet dimly lit space. 

“Please, take a seat.” The doctor motioned to one of the couches across the room. “I turned the air-conditioning off before leaving— the summer heat can get quite unbearable with the sun bearing down on you through the window.” Jongin commented mildly, fussing for a moment with a sleek, compact remote as Kyungsoo settled into the couch he had taken. Within moments, the room had dropped by several degrees and Kyungsoo sighed comfortably, thankful for the wonders of modern technology in the face of the horror that was Japanese summers. 

Jongin smiled indulgently as he took the seat across from Kyungsoo. His hair, parted to perfection, moved minutely as an air conditioned breeze washed over them. Within seconds, his dark eyes were zeroing in on Kyungsoo, hesitation nonexistent when he spoke. “I hope you don’t mind my abruptness, but is there a particular reason you came to see me today?”

Kyungsoo opened and closed his mouth several times, the words a jumbled mess in his mind. His brows furrowed, frown contorting his expression almost painfully.

“I don’t want a psychiatrist, I don’t want to be psychoanalysed.” The words left him honestly, and Jongin merely nodded in acceptance. “But the last time we met, you said you’d like to help me. And if you’re still willing, I’d like to accept your offer.”

The answer is half the truth — only half, because not even Kyungsoo was sure himself fully why he chose the man before him. 

“Lending each other an ear and providing some clarity.” Jongin did not seem perturbed— “A relationship of something somewhat more, perhaps?”

He wasn’t offering friendship off the bat — for that, Kyungsoo was glad. It would be too difficult for him at this point to say yes. Or no. He had always struggled with setting boundaries. But something somewhat more was good for him — not confined to a professional setting, yet not restricted by set boundaries of what it should be. There was no expectation placed on him by Jongin, and none placed on Jongin by him — they had leeway, a fine line on which to walk on. This relationship, if accepted, was theirs to mould. Carefully, every so carefully. With careful words and careful gestures not used in normal interactions, it had the capability to become something more.

“Something somewhat more sounds acceptable.” Kyungsoo murmurred softly. Their eyes met across the short distance that separated them and Jongin smiled, eyes flashing with a quiet type of joy. Kyungsoo swallowed nervously, unsure yet not unwilling to return the gesture.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading this far! As someone who is writing (trying to, at least) hearing thoughts from the people who take the time to read and comment is really the most motivating thing!  
> I have an essay due soon, so I'll be focussing on getting that done 100% before posting anymore here. The trials and tribulations of being a uni student, I suppose.
> 
> Take care and see you all next update!


	4. Blood in the Water

 

Kyungsoo felt the regret of the killer, he knew intimately the fear that plagued him. Kyungsoo knew exactly why the the hours bled into days, the days to weeks, and the weeks into months. The killer was trying desperately to contain _it_ — _it_ , the niggling, ever present compulsion that ate away at him from the inside out, under control.

Kyungsoo almost admired his almost furious willpower —  even though he knew it was fuelled by a selfish kind of fear. 

Still. _It_ wasn’t an easy thing to fight against. _It_ was a delicious, irresistible urge, an all consuming desire, an inescapable need, an overwhelming temptation — love, to love and love and love, without constraint, without inhibition. To own and possess, to love without holding back. The sickness of it grew, and with the sickness came the impulses. Like a drug, the need to act and get a fix increased. The only think holding the killer back was the fear — always the fear. 

Kyungsoo was aware of this yet he passed through the days half present. To him, it felt as though he was disconnected somehow, swimming through thick, syrupy air. Little sounds boomed in his ears, his movements slow and disjointed as he went from one motion to the next. Peoples voices came to him magnified yet disembodied and his eyes would slide off their faces, his brain seemingly incapable of truly taking them in and cementing them in place as truly _there_. Simple sounds like the turning of a page or the setting down of a mug on a table were sharp and violent in his head and there were times he would wake from his dreams unsure if he had ever truly fallen asleep in the first place. He gazed out through his eyes, his body simmering with a barely controlled anxiety. _Was he awake, or was he still asleep?_ It had grown harder and harder for him to tell. As if he were looking at the world through lenses that warped and distorted rather than cleared, he found that the normalcy of day to day life was delivered to him so acutely that it frequently became almost too much to bear — something about him turned it wrong. Living felt too sharp and too loud and experiencing even normal things that should have been easy felt like a piercing pressure in his skull that tightened his heart with anxiety.

Worst was the fact he had no proper explanation for why. It was simply as if he existed on another plane — it was aligned to the reality everyone else existed within, yet the connection was off somehow and things that came naturally to others was magnified into a pressure so great it left him reeling. He could see people, as they could see him. He could speak to people, as they could speak to him. He could walk the footpaths of the streets, taking in the sights and scents and sounds, but it was all _wrong_ to him and he was left all too aware of the disconnect between himself and the reality he existed in. He was cursed to never be able to extend the distance that separated him from all else, no matter how lonely he was and how hard he tried. The wrongness in him set him apart. He existed in quiet discomfort on what he felt was the edge of madness.

The pressure built. The repressed feelings festered.

_But who do these feelings belong to?_

He couldn’t tell. It was becoming too hard to tell.

 

* * *

 

It was almost funny to Kyungsoo just how much he felt as though his social life took off upon meeting Jongin. They had agreed to meet once a week and would alternate between locations — one week, Kyungsoo would choose. The next, Jongin would. It wasn’t as though it were a lot — but to Kyungsoo, who didn’t just meet up with people for the sake of meeting up, it felt like he had gone from zero to one hundred. In a way, he had. Jongin had become Kyungsoo’s everything. Outside of the stress and pressure of work, there was only Jongin — his one hundred percent of something that wasn’t related to death and murder and the simmering sickness that festered beneath the facade of normalcy Kyungsoo wore across his face. It wasn’t a thought he liked to dwell on, though, so he didn’t.

Instead, Kyungsoo committed himself to other observations. He had noticed rather early on that Jongin had  rather luxurious taste, while he, on the other hand, was quite content settling for the bare minimum. At first, he had been embarrassed — Jongin had sent him an address for their first meeting which Kyungsoo had taken the initiative to research. The resulting webpage he had come across — Nihon Ryori Ryugin — had left him reeling with anxiety. The restaurant Jongin had booked them into was located in Roppongi and had received three Michelin stars and tailored meals to seasonal ingredients. The restaurant website clearly stated that semi-formal dress code was to be followed and that guests wearing t-shirts, shorts or sandals would be rejected. 

Kyungsoo had been too fearful to examine the website any further and had showed up to the intimate restaurant a sweaty mess of scarcely repressed nerves. He had been showed graciously to the private room Jongin had booked and had settled himself nervously into his seat, as if expecting one of the service staff to burst into the elegant room he sat in to haul him out of the restaurant for wearing an outfit he had hastily purchased from Uniqlo instead of some foreign branded suit worth several hundred thousand yen. He had eyed Jongin’s own light blue suit wearily upon the thought, all to aware that the single outfit the doctor wore was probably worth more than all of his clothes combined. 

Surprisingly, however, was the fact that Doctor Kim was an impressive enough conversationalist that Kyungsoo soon found himself forgetting his anxieties. It wasn’t every day that he found himself so rapt at the words of another than he was able to forget everything else and simply speak.

“I was passed between foster families for most of my youth, and had very few things to call my own.” Jongin said said simply. “The constant upheaval of my juvenescent years made me hungry for stability.” He smiled as he continued. “I recognise that my current lifestyle is a result of that desire.”

It was easy enough to understand. Jongin’s adult life was one fuelled by a desire to not ever be in the unfortunate circumstances he had found himself in as a child. Many would describe his current lifestyle as opulent — and it was, that could not be denied. However, the opulence was also his means of possessing a control he had lacked in his formative years. The things he had now were things he owned wholly — they could not be taken from him. Jongin was driven and scrupulous in all of his dealings — he thrived because of his almost neurotic drive to possess control.  

“What about you, Kyungsoo?”

Kyungsoo pondered the question for a moment. “I was a country boy, as a child. I grew up on a small property in Fukuoka. We grew a lot of orange trees and spring onions, and as you can probably imagine, as far as produce goes those two things didn’t generate much income. We were poor.” Kyungsoo had murmured his reply with a shrug over his small cup of sake. “I never knew my mother — she was from Busan, originally. She passed away from postpartum complications within a month of my birth.”

“And your father?”

“Because farming wasn’t enough to keep us going, my father worked as a contract builder. I’m not sure his involvement in my developmental years could be equated to any sort of parental care.” Kyungsoo smiled bitterly. “At most, we were strangers living in the same home. He blamed me, I think, for my mothers death. I look a lot like her, too, so it was hard for him to see me. I was a reminder of what he had lost.” Kyungsoo swallowed a mouthful of sake before continuing. “I was too much for him to handle, I suppose. He died when I was eighteen — a heart attack.”

Jongin seemed to think a moment. “You say you were too much to handle. Were you rebellious?”

“No” Kyungsoo laughed sharply. “I tried so hard to be loveable, but I couldn’t help but be peculiar. A little weirdo, incomprehensible and creepy despite my best efforts to fit in.”

Jongin seemed to ignore his derisive words, a small smile gracing his face instead. “Citrus blossoms smell sweet. I can see you well — a little boy in second hand clothes, surrounded by orange trees with knees dirty from tending to your spring onions.” His eyes were far away as he continued to speak, voice a soft, hypnotic lull. “A little too mature, a little too thoughtful, with eyes that always saw a little too much for the people around you to be comfortable with. You were a boy who always wanted a little more than what was offered.”

Kyungsoo had adverted his eyes as he absorbed Jongin’s words, opting instead to stare at the elegant Shōka flower arrangement on the far side of the room with downturned lips. The ambiguous yet apt description unsettled him in more ways than he was willing to admit.

 

* * *

 

The investigation had come to a grinding halt and Kyungsoo felt that his days were spent choking of a miasma of unanswerable questions. When would another be killed? When would the next body be found? The investigators on the Kanagawa Killer task force spent hours hunched over their desks mulling over profiles, maps, and evidence reports to what felt like no avail. Were they achieving anything? Any progress they were making was too small to notice — Kyungsoo imagined it was like waiting for sand to form a mountain. Each moment they spent working was a grain of sand — it was something, at least, but it was _so very little_ in the grand scheme of things. When would it be enough? When would the scales be tipped in their favour by that one tiny, seemingly insignificant grain of sand?

It was a waiting game, and something about waiting games were so horribly painful to Kyungsoo.

The thoughts were like poison in his brain. Waiting for something terrible, yet powerless to do anything against what surely approached — _how fitting_ , Kyugsoo found himself thinking. Fighting against the inevitable —  was this the way humans were fated to have their lives pan out?

Kyungsoo found that he could not fall into the frenzy that those around him did. Instead of angst, all he felt was an apathetic acceptance of what was to come. A dull sense of nothingness filled him. Every person on earth, every single one of them, all rushing towards their own private grand finale. Why bother trying to avoid the unavoidable? Kyungsoo felt nothing towards what could not be stopped. He felt drained and exhausted. 

In comparison, inaction seemed to have been a torture his peers were unprepared to accept. Minseok, in particular, had been pulled taunt, precariously close to snapping. _Sometimes there is simply nothing to be done_ , Kyungsoo wanted to tell him. _Sometimes, you just have to accept what must come to pass._ The words were lodged in his throat, waiting to be said aloud. 

They remained unspoken. 

“It’s been almost two months.” Minseok’s voice was edged with a note of panic that Kyungsoo tried not to linger on. For a moment his vision flashed with the memory of a greying, mud coated face and gorged eye sockets that wept slimy, watery blood. Kyungsoo forced the vision from his mind and took a deep breath before speaking. _It’s a waiting game_ , the voice in head reminded him, a whisper that coiled in him like poison. _Waiting, waiting, waiting for the next death, waiting for the next murder_. _How powerless they all are. How frustrated they must feel by their own inability._

Kyungsoo swallowed thickly, speaking simply for the sake of pushing the unsavoury thoughts from his mind. “He scared himself with the last one.” 

“But not enough to not kill again.”

Kyungsoo’s heart shaped lips turned down at the corners. Some killers would fall off the radar abruptly — for years at a time, even. He knew in his heart, though, that this as not the case for the killer they dealt with.  

“No, not enough to stop killing.” 

_Never enough to stop killing. To stop killing would be to stop loving._

He held the words he wished to speak inside.

 

* * *

 

The weeks continued to pass and soon summer began to wane. There were always the odd days, though, right at the end where people would stop and complain in bewilderment — _“The worst of summer is meant to be over already, why is it so hot today?!”_ — it was as if all the remaining energy of the season was compressed and unleashed in one day, the death throes of mother nature in her final, desperate output of heat before summer died and gave way to autumn.

Jongin sat before him, lapels of his light grey, three piece summer suit flat against his chest and his dark hair perfect coifed despite the sickening humidity. His tanned skin was even despite the heat and the glass of iced tea he raised to his full lips was steady in his hand. He was perfectly put together, like usual.

“Hot today, isn’t it?”

Kyungsoo merely grunted in response, half resentful of how totally unaffected Jongin appeared. 

In comparison, Kyungsoo had a somewhat disheveled air about him —  his un-ironed shirt stuck uncomfortably to his back and a thin layer of perspiration had resulted in strands of his hair sticking to his forehead. He had been running late and had worked up a sweat in the midday sun in his haste to arrive on time. His motions were those of a person unused to the setting they found themself in — somewhat nervous and jerky. He had selected the small cafe they sat in, so it wasn’t a matter of being uncomfortable with the location, rather, he still wasn’t well acquainted with the ins and outs of social get-togethers like the one he was currently engaged in. 

Jongin didn’t seem at all bothered by this, however, and he placed his iced tea down with a fluidity Kyungsoo could only dream of emulating. Watching him made something stir in Kyungsoo’s chest— 

“What do you think of yourself, Jongin?” Kyungsoo asked into his drink. 

Jongin raised a single sculpted brow in thought. “Getting the psychiatrist to psychoanalyse them self today, are you? I thought you had sworn off all of that.”

Kyungsoo couldn’t help but crack a small smile but said nothing as Jongin leant back in his seat with a look of contemplation on his face.

“I suppose I can’t deny that my childhood manifests itself in a great number of ways in my personality and actions — whether or not those manifestations are positive or negative is yet to be said.” Jongin smiled slightly. “As for the opinion I have of myself… its hard to say. People don’t tend to like thinking of their own traits unless said traits are useful or admirable to other people, don’t you think? It would be so easy for me to list out a few things and end it at that but thats all so very surface level. If I told you what I’m really like and if I showed you who I really am, I’m afraid you’d come to hate me.” Jongin gave him a crooked smile, head tilting to the side and smile fading as he considered Kyungsoo.

“What of you, Kyungsoo? If you were to shed all the layers you have constructed and wrapped yourself within,” Jongin’s hinted at no particular emotion. “— what would you be?”

Kyungsoo’s eyes darted to Jongin’s face — the psychiatrist’s eyes were dark pools, his face neither giving or taking — Kyungsoo dropped his gaze quickly, opting instead to stare at his own glass of iced tea as though the liquids reflective surface would reveal the answers for him. 

 _‘I’d like to think of myself as well-rounded: I work hard, I’m enduring, I try my best to be kind’—_ The words were there, waiting to be spoken. But was that really the truth? The more he thought of it, the more shallow it felt to him. They were surface level descriptions of the person he tried to be. What was he, really? What was he truly, when he stopped trying to be good?

It was a private question, one that required him to bare his heart and admit to something ugly. _If I told you what I’m really like and if I showed you who I really am, I’m afraid you’d come to hate me —_ Kyungsoo could have laughed at the irony, if not for the bitterness of it all.

“Lonely, I suppose.”

Not quite the truth, but by no means a lie, either. The best sort of cover. He forced himself to smile at Jongin, whose dark eyed gaze did not leave him for several seconds longer.

“I see.”

_You see. You see. Please don’t see anymore. Please don’t see any more of me. I don’t want to be hated by you._

 

* * *

 

A total of three months passed before the Kanagawa Killer finally snapped. 

The scene had been carefully cordoned off and Kyungsoo arrived to the sight of Minseok pacing between two parked police vehicles. It was all too obvious that the Behavioural Analyst was furious — at their failure to prevent another death, at their failure to catch the killer, at their killer for taking another life — but at the same time, a desperate sort of agony haunted his agitated steps. 

They were well in the midst of autumn now, and leaves squelched under Kyungsoo’s boots as he wove his way between parked police vehicles and the investigators who darted to and fro with hardened expressions. 

“Minseok.” Kyungsoo called softly as he approached. 

Minseok whirled around, eyes wild for a moment before he reigned in his emotions and expression. “Kyungsoo.”

“Are you alright?”

Minseok shook his head, motion so swift and small that Kyungsoo would have missed it if he had blinked. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “It’s bad, Kyungsoo. And I feel so useless. We’ve spent all these months hunting for this killer with so little ground gained. And then this happens, and its all because of my incompetence.”

“Not just yours, Minseok.” Kyungsoo murmured, eyes full of apology. Minseok was staring down at his shoes, shoulders hunched in defeat. It was bewildering to see him drained of the usual fervour that fuelled him — in that moment, Kyungsoo wished for nothing more than to disappear. He swallowed thickly, fighting between the conflicting urge to try and comfort the senior investigator the way a good person ought to, and the desire to escape the uncomfortably emotion packed situation he found himself in. 

In the end, he went with the latter option. _Like the coward you are_ , the voice in his mind sneered gleefully at him. 

“I’ll take a look.” Kyungsoo raised a hand and placed it on Minseok’s shoulder, squeezing for a fraction of a second before releasing his hold and stepping backwards. “I’m sorry, Minseok.”

Kyungsoo felt like the worst kind of person saying it and was glad that Minseok was too occupied with his own thoughts to pay him much attention. His body felt stiff and his movements unwilling as he made his way over to the police that stood guard. He flashed them his identification card and was ushered through with little grace, but no argument.

The current crime scene was, like all those before it, in proximity to Sakai River. It was a small nature reserve situated in a residential area that the river passed through. It was littered with dirt trails that were used by locals for bike riding, jogging and dog walking. The body had been found by an older woman who had gone for an early morning stroll with her dog. She had let her pet off its leash, like she normally did and had then promptly been led by hers dog’s uncharacteristic barking to the body, half submerged at the side of the river. In a panic, she had retrieved her pet then rushed to the nearest home to alert the police. Within the hour the entire area had been closed off and surrounded and specialists had soon converged to begin forensic investigations.

The frenzy of the killers relapse was a horror to behold. 

The victim, like the one before him, had been left with gorged eyes. This time, however, the body was supine, the mutilated sockets pointing blankly up at the open sky above. Huge amounts of blood and coagulated gore coated the teens face, the holes that had once contained his eyes empty but for the slimy, bloody remains of the extraocular muscles that remained attached to the annular tendon at the far reaches of the orbit. Kyungsoo’s gaze dropped lower at the heavy branch, no log, that had been dragged diagonally across the teen’s body, as if to trap him in place to the ground. It was cut smooth at each end.

It took a moment for his brain to process what he was seeing. The violence of the murder before him was unlike anything Kyungsoo had witnessed before.

The teen’s chest looked as though it had been cleaved open. The amount of strength it would have taken to commit the act was beyond Kyungsoo’s comprehension. The starkness of splintered, cracked bone against bloody flesh and innards was startling. The fallen leaves that the top half of the body lay on were soaked with blood, the branch across the body equally bloodstained from the killer manoeuvring it into place. From the waist down, the teen was submerged in the shallow, muddy water of the bank side.

_Why. Why have you done this? What about the love?_

Kyungsoo closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel it all. The emotions remained, an imprint that danced across the air inhabiting the space he stood. 

_Anger, anger, so much anger — the bitterest sort, the kind of anger that stemmed from grief. Why don’t you love me? Why don’t you love me the way I love you? After all this time, after everything I’ve said, after everything I’ve done, how can you not love me? You don’t even realise. You won’t even_ **_acknowledge_ ** _my love. I can’t accept this, I_ **_won’t_ ** _. I’ll make you see. I’ll make you understand._

Kyungsoo heaved in a ragged, painful breath, his eyes snapping open. He whirled back a moment later, a panicked call of Minseok’s name bursting from his mouth as he blindly ran back to where he knew the senior behavioural analyst was.

Their time was fast running out.

 

* * *

 

Kyungsoo had come to simple conclusion that he hated morgues. He couldn’t for the life of him understand how Baekhyun managed to spend hour after hour working in one without snapping. Death was infused into every particle of air Kyungsoo breathed in. By being there, Kyungsoo felt as though he were willingly accepting death into his body. The very thought made him feel sick.

“There was no ketamine in this boy’s body.” Baekhyun said simply. Kyungsoo glanced up at the forensic pathologist with furrowed eyebrows. 

“He put up a fight. He’s got a number of denfence wounds.” Baekhyun continued with a gesture towards the report in Kyungsoo’s hands that he had handed over barely five minutes earlier. “Which isn’t in-line with the killers past modus operandi. I mean, he always avoided that by drugging them first.”

“Yes, even the last boy whose eyes he gorged was drugged before. He planned it out up until the point of mutilation, which happened unplanned. He was horrified at himself for it.” Kyungsoo murmured.  

Baekhyun inclined his head in acknowledgment of Kyungsoo’s words. “This murder obviously hadn’t be planned, then. It was a snap decision.”

“Yes, I believe that’s the case.” Kyungsoo replied simply, expression twisting at the memory of the madness that had tinged the feelings had had felt of the killer. Snap decision was a good way of putting it. The killer had simply withheld beyond what he was capable of. Now the urges he had repressed had been set free to run rampant. “Something happened that the killer didn’t like — he wasn’t able to hold back after finding out whatever it was he had heard.”

Baekhyun pointed at the report once more. “Note the information on the log and sawdust”

“The log and sawdust?”

Baekhyun nodded, slight frown gracing his face as he eyes the report. “I don't know what to make of it, but it's certainly something worth following up.”

God Kyungsoo was tired. His head was pounding and his entire face felt stiff and tight. He felt as though he were on the verge of bursting from the body he inhabited. Everything felt wrong and all he wanted was to see—

“Alright. I’ll get this report to Minseok. Thank you, Baekhyun.” The words that left him did not reflect the exhaustion he felt. 

“Oh, no problem.” Baekhyun replied, totally unaware of the conflicting feelings surging within the man directly across from him. “Give Minseok my regards. I’m sure he’s punishing himself over the fact the killer is still loose.” The pretty forensic pathologist frowned. “For everyone’s sake I hope you guys can get this case sorted soon.”

Kyungsoo merely nodded in response, waving once with the report in his hand as he left the consultation room he had been standing in. Within seconds of exiting the room, he had his phone in hand. It was 10:37AM. He had plans to meet Jongin for lunch, but the discovery of the seventh body meant he would have to cancel to focus on the investigation. He frowned unhappily as he lifted his phone to his ear.

“Hello?” Jongin picked up after the third ring tone. His warm voice somehow eased the tightness in Kyungsoo’s chest almost immediately. 

“Hi, Jongin.” Kyungsoo said, sounding a little breathless as he strode from the building and across the small carpark towards the road. “I’m really sorry but I’m not going to be able to make it to lunch today. A body was found yesterday morning and investigations are back in full swing. I actually have to head back to Fukuoka station now with a report for Minseok, which we all have to go over.”

For a moment Jongin was silent. “When will you finish work?”

Kyungsoo paused, blinking owlishly as he processed the question. “I might be at the station until fairly late. I’ll try to leave at least by nine, though.”

“I’ll come and pick you up, then.”

“What?!” Kyungsoo gasped. “No, no, please don’t inconvenience yourself on my behalf.”

“I’m not inconveniencing myself on your behalf. It’s because I’ve been looking forward to seeing you since last week — I enjoy speaking to you, Kyungsoo. So consider my offer a selfish, self-serving one at best.”

Kyungsoo’s lips twitched upwards for a moment. Somehow, the thought of someone wanting to see him sent an unplanned surge of happiness go through him. People didn't tend to want him around simply for the sake of his company. Other than for consulting cases, he wasn't the type of person that was called upon to just 'hang out'. Jongin was the exception to the trend that had prevaled for most of Kyungsoo's adult life, and he was almost embarrassed by how thrilled Jongin’s casual confession made him feel.

“Well, if its not too much of a hassle…” Kyungsoo murmured. 

Jongin’s laughter reached him through his phone. “Of course not, Kyungsoo. You’d never be a hassle to me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long hiatus. I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing. I hope everyone is enjoying the holidays and as always, thank you for the support.


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